A Tradition of Pride Page 2

  "Good morning, dad." Lara Cochran's warm greeting to her father echoed above Trevor's quiet summons as he paused in the open doorway of the living room. Rans took his time moving toward the hall, lighting a cigarette as he walked.

  "Good morning, pet." Martin Alexander returned his daughter's greeting with definite affection. "I missed you at breakfast this morning."

  "I indulged myself and had it in bed." The laughing words were uttered as Rans stepped into the hall. Yet her green eyes were aloof when they swung to him. "Good morning, Mr. MacQuade."

  "Mrs. Cochran." Briefly he inclined his head to acknowledge her greeting before turning to his employer. "Hello, Martin."

  "Since you two are obviously running off to closet yourselves in the study and talk business—" Lara removed a set of car keys from her brown purse "—I might as well make my exit now. I've already told Sara I won't be home for lunch."

  "Take care," her father smiled. "And give Angie my hello."

  "I'll walk you to the car darling." Trevor slipped his hand under her elbow.

  With almost practiced ease, she slipped free of his touch. "That isn't necessary," Lara answered coolly. "We can say our goodbyes here."

  Through the smoke from his cigarette, Rans noted the tightening of Trevor's jaw. As if aware of his audience, Trevor smiled automatically and graciously accepted her wish.

  "Very well." His dark head bent to kiss her. At the very last second, Lara moved her head slightly so that his mouth brushed the smoothness of her cheek instead of her lips.

  "I'll see you at dinner." She smiled at her husband without warmth or emotion and moved to the front door with unaffected grace.

  One corner of Rans's mouth lifted sardonically as he turned to follow Martin to the study. His sympathy was directed to Trevor. He had married a cold witch with red hair. Why was it, Rans wondered idly to himself, that the truly beautiful women always seemed to be frigid? And poor Martin, imagine having that hollow shell of a woman as a daughter. Perhaps being her father blinded him to all but her exquisite loveliness.

  LARA WAS TEN MILES south of the farm and Hattiesburg before the inner tension began to ease and she could relax. The highway was a tree-lined avenue of pines. The peaceful scenery, released her mind from its self-imprisonment and let it wander.

  Sunlight flashed on the diamond solitaire of her wedding ring. A small sigh of relief escaped her lips that Trevor had been unable to force his company on her today—not that he often tried anymore.

  Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel as she remembered Trevor's announcement that he was free to spend the day with her, as if she was supposed to be so grateful that she should have fallen to her knees. If the prospect wasn't so revolting, it would have been laughable.

  The thought brought back the image of the cynical look that had been in Ransom MacQuade's eyes. Lara knew what he had been thinking—that she was a cold, unfeeling bitch, pampered and spoiled by her father. Men always stick together.

  A shiver of apprehension danced down her spine—the same sensation she had experienced the first time she had met him. Her father had brought him to dinner one evening a day or two after Ransom MacQuade had taken over the management of Alexander land.

  Compared to her husband, Ransom MacQuade was not a handsome man. His features were too boldly chiseled. Yet his virility and vitality made him compellingly attractive, forces equally as potent as Trevor's considerable charm and looks.

  His hair was not jet black like Trevor's, but in varying shades of brown, like tobacco. His eyes were the same brown, seemingly lazy in their regard yet never missing anything. Although the same height as Trevor, Ransom MacQuade was the larger of the two. Lara had seen the rippling of his muscles beneath his shirt and knew there wasn't an ounce of spare flesh on him.

  After nearly two months, she still, hadn't decided what there was about him that she didn't trust, that made her feel so apprehensive whenever he was around. Maybe it was simply because he was a man.

  Her father certainly thought highly of him, although her father tended to think highly of most people. He was a born optimist. Not that Lara questioned Ransom MacQuade's credentials. When her father had requested her opinion of him after their first meeting, she hadn't cast any doubts on his ability nor did she endorse her father's choice.

  "I think his decisiveness borders on arrogance," she had replied.

  It had drawn a chauvinistic laugh from her father. Then he had expounded on MacQuade's qualifications, his extensive breeding experience with Santa Gertrudis cattle, the mainstay of the Alexander farm, coupled with an excellent knowledge of pecan orchards. So in the face of her father's hearty approval, Lara had not voiced any more intuitive comments that warned her against Ransom MacQuade.

  The car slowed. Lara glanced around her in surprise. She was on a county road that turned into the lane leading to Longleaf Plantation. She had been so lost in thought she hadn't even been aware of where she was. One part of her mind must have been, since she had made all the right turns to get here. With a shake of her head, she tried to banish all the unwanted thoughts and concentrate on seeing Angie again.

  Tall pine trees towered over the landscape to shade the vast lawn. The evergreens were of the longleaf variety that had given the private hunting lodge its name. The sun glistened on the mirror smooth surface of a small lake. A graveled driveway curved lazily through the sylvan setting, ending at the rustic elegance of the rough-hewn cypress buildings of Longleaf.

  A full smile spread across Lara's face at the sight of the petite brunette leaning against the porch railing, dressed in a bulky blue sweater that looked several sizes too large and slim-fitting wool slacks. At the honk of the car's horn, Angie Connors raced down the steps, waving excitedly and reaching the car as it stopped in front of the main lodge.

  Lara was barely out of the car when she was wrapped in an exuberant hug. "Just look at you!'" Angie exclaimed, her dark eyes dancing with happiness. "My, but don't you look like a lady!"

  Laughing, Lara shook away the comment. A tight lump entered her throat as she gazed at her best friend whom she hadn't seen in so long. On the surface, Angie hadn't changed. There was still a mass of dark, waving curls on her head, styled to show off her petite femininity and add a spice of impish mischief.

  "You haven't changed a bit," Lara sighed, but she couldn't stop herself from wondering if, like herself, Angie had changed on the inside.

  "In two years was I supposed to grow fangs?" she teased, then bit into her lower lip. "It's so good to see you again," Angie added in a choked voice filled with emotion. "This is so much better than a thousand letters. We have so much to catch up on. Tell me about Trevor. How is he?"

  Lara turned away, reaching into the car to get her purse. "He's fine," she answered noncommittally.

  "Is he still the handsome devil who whisked you off on your honeymoon before the wedding reception had barely begun?" Angie laughed.

  "The same." But Lara's answering laugh was decidedly brittle. "And Bob, how's he?"

  A puzzled light fleetingly entered Angie's dark eyes before she was sidetracked by Lara's question. "The mighty hunter is fine. The hunting party should be back any time and you can see for yourself. It's nearly lunchtime and Bob has an alarm clock in his tummy that goes off at breakfast, lunch and dinner time." As if on cue, the first of the hunting jeeps rumbled into sight. "See what I mean?" Angie laughed as she spied her husband in the front seat with the guide.

  The straggling arrival of the various hunting parties from different areas of the plantation kept the excitement of the morning's quail hunt running until lunchtime. Angie and Lara, the only two women, were natural choices for the dozen hunters to relate their adventures.

  Through lunch, the two friends had exchanged only surface comments about their lives. The conversation was dominated by the men, not that Lara objected. She kept seeing that radiant glow that filled Angie's expression every time she looked at her husband. It twisted her heart with a bitter sa
dness.

  Sitting on the black leather sofa in the main lounge, Lara gazed sightlessly into the flames licking at the logs in the massive fireplace. Her pensive mood separated her from the hunters preparing to leave for the afternoon shoot. Absently she flicked the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray.

  It was a cozy yet spacious room. The unfinished cypress wood in the open-beamed ceiling also paneled the walls. The large, small-paned windows let the outdoors come in. But Lara was unaware of the natural charm of the room.

  "Well, Lara, are you going to tell me what happened?"

  Angie's voice caught her off guard. She glanced up in surprise. The room was empty. The hunters gone. There were only the two of them and Angie was leaning forward in a large cushioned chair, her expressive face calm and serious.

  Snubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray, Lara shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about," she smiled and tried to look blank. "Yes, you do," her friend answered patiently. "And I want to know what's happened to change you."

  "I haven't changed," Lara protested. There was suddenly nothing for her nervous hands to do and she reached again for the cigarette pack sitting on the table.

  "Of course not," Angie agreed with tongue in cheek. "Which is why the Lara, who two years ago could hardly be persuaded to have a cigarette at a bar, is now chain-smoking."

  "Smoking isn't a crime—a health hazard, but not a crime." She set the pack down, avoiding her friend's gaze.

  "And you've become defensive. The openness I remember is gone. Each time I ask anything that remotely resembles a personal question, you withdraw. There isn't any other way to describe it. Oh, you answer me," Angie laughed abruptly without humor, "but it's always a standard response that tells nothing. I've done all the talking with my Bob this and Bob that. You've barely mentioned Trevor's name. What's wrong?"

  Lara stared at her twisting fingers. "It's the classic syndrome in every marriage." Her voice was hard and deliberately uncaring. "Didn't you recognize it? It's commonly known as 'the honeymoon is over.' "

  "Nothing is as simple as that." The dark curls bounced in a definite negative shake. "At your wedding, you were happier than I had ever seen you. Something has to have happened to make that change."

  Her fingers wearily rubbed her forehead. A pain had begun to throb in her temples. "Maybe I was happy then. I don't remember anymore," Lara sighed. "I was a stupid, blind little bride, lost in a fantasy world of romance complete with a tall, dark and handsome Prince Charming."

  "Trevor…" Angie hesitated. "Doesn't he love you?"

  "Of course." Lara's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "I'm Lara Alexander. He also loves Julie, Ann, Connie—speak a girl's name and he loves her. But I'm Lara Alexander so he married me."

  "Are you sure? I mean, about the other women?"

  "Oh, yes." She took a deep breath, pressing her lips tightly together. She hadn't expected to feel pain about that again, but it wasn't really pain. It was pride. "I am very sure about the other women."

  A hand closed over the clasped fingers in Lara's lap. Her green eyes met the look of commiseration glistening in Angie's dark eyes. But Lara's own expression remained blank from long practice.

  "How did you find out?" Angie whispered.

  "Not quite three months after the wedding, Trevor called the house one afternoon to tell me he was going to be working late on some reports daddy wanted. Me, in my rose-colored glasses and with grains of rice still in my hair, decided to surprise him. I packed a dinner and wrapped a bottle of champagne in a cooler and went tripping along to the office. I expected to find him poring over papers on his desk. Instead he was on the couch with his blond secretary."

  "Lara, I'm sorry." The offer of sympathy was issued tautly. "What did he say? Did he explain?"

  "There wasn't a great deal to explain, was there?" Lara countered dryly. "I left the office immediately and Trevor came rushing home full of explanations. We had an enormous fight. I went around for days silently weeping and wailing and beating my chest trying to figure out what I had done wrong. Then I became filled with bitterness and revenge and flirted outrageously with any man I met, trying to pay Trevor back and make him jealous."

  "Didn't he promise to stop?" Angie frowned.

  Lara nodded mutely. "And for a while I believed him." Her impassive green eyes slid to the tortured expression on her friend's face. "You would be surprised at the depths you sink to when you stop trusting your husband. I went through his personal papers and found rent receipts for an apartment in Hattiesburg. It was his private little love nest. I couldn't be sure he still used it after his promise, so I followed him one day when he made a trip into town, ostensibly to meet an attorney friend. Them meeting turned out to be an assignation and the attorney had a striking resemblance to the blond secretary Trevor had supposedly discharged." Without conscious thought, she lighted another cigarette and inhaled the smoke deeply. "For all I know the apartment is still in use, although I believe the girl has changed several times. Trevor is always discreet. He has to maintain his respectable standing in the community."

  "How did your father react to this? I can't imagine him tolerating this treatment of you." It was Angie's turn to clasp her hands together.

  "Angie—" Lara laughed hollowly "—my father is a Victorian chauvinist. One of the first things I did when I learned Trevor was cheating on me was to run to daddy and cry out my woes. His words of comfort consisted of a lengthy explanation that just because a man steps out on his wife doesn't mean he no longer loves her. I had the impression that, as a lady, I was supposed to be grateful that Trevor didn't expect me to endure all of his manly passion."

  "You're kidding?" Angie stared at her in openmouthed disbelief. "Thank heavens Bob doesn't feel that way." She leaned back in her chair. "Surely when your father saw what it was doing to you, he had more to suggest than grin and bear it."

  "His antiquated notion was the old standby that I should have a child." Lara rose to her feet, walked aimlessly to the sliding glass windows and stared through the small panes. "I couldn't bring myself to tell him that Trevor and I hadn't slept together since I had found him with his secretary and the thought of any intimacy with him made me ill."

  A stillness permeated the room. The fire crackled in the hearth while outside the laughing babble could be heard as the waters of Black Creek rushed over the curve of rocks. A rocking chair on the porch overlooking the creek was stirred into movement by the breeze.

  "Lara, what are you going to do?" Angie broke the silence at last. "You surely aren't going to maintain this marital farce, are you?"

  Lara turned away from the peaceful outdoor scene. None of her composure had been the least bit affected by any of the incidents and emotions she had just related. Time had reinforced her armor to the point that it was nearly impenetrable.

  "Do you remember meeting my Aunt Beatrice from Gulfport at the wedding?" Lara inquired. At Angie's bewildered nod, she continued. "The morning of the wedding she took me aside, taking my mother's place and giving me all the advice and instruction a bride needs. One of the things she stressed most fervently was the fact that in all the history of the Alexander family, there had never been a divorce. It's a tradition that everyone is very proud of, including my father. In essence, she said that even if love dies, a couple should stay together regardless of whether or not they destroy each other's souls in the process."

  "Family loyalty is one thing, but you are carrying it too far!" Angie protested vigorously. "You can't ruin your life because of someone else's outmoded beliefs!"

  "I agree." With one cigarette out, Lara lighted another, exhaling a cloud of smoke and watching it dissipate in the air. "But I don't see any point in getting a divorce. True, I'd be rid of Trevor, but in everything but name, I'm rid of him now. He's just a man living under the same roof that I do. I don't love him anymore, nor do I hate him. I simply don't care about him, period."

  Angie raised her hands in a helplessly beseeching plea for Lara to
reconsider what she was saying. "But…you'll meet another man someday and want to marry him and have his children."

  "No." Pity flashed in her green eyes, knowing her friend was seeing life through the rose-colored glasses she herself had once worn. "I know I must sound hard and cynical to you, but I don't care to have any man in my life … ever."

  "You can't mean that," Angie sighed. "It's not natural."

  "I've lived the life of a celibate for nearly two years. It's really not so difficult." Lara glanced at her left hand, watching the play of light on her diamond. "This wedding ring insulates me. If it was off, I would be fair game, and I would just as soon not have any men around. So Trevor can have whatever status and money he feels is a part of the Alexander family—and his girl friends—and I'll have the solitary life I want."

  "Do you expect me to believe that you've stopped feeling, Lara?" Angie asked quietly.

  "Feeling toward a man the way you mean? Yes, I have stopped feeling. I've tasted the so-called marital bliss, and it was bitterly galling," was her positive reply.

  "It won't last," her friend murmured, her dark eyes rounded with deep sadness.

  Lara smiled confidently. "We'll see."

  Chapter Two

  LARA CAREFULLY POURED the brandied syrup over the salad of assorted fruits and nuts in the stemmed serving glasses and set the emptied cup in the sink. A pecan pie was cooling on the counter, the flaky golden crust complementing the toast-brown pecan halves.

  "As far as I'm concerned, Sara," she smiled, "you can skip the meal and serve the pie. It looks delicious."

  "And fattening," was the reply. "Not that you'll ever have to worry."

  "Is there anything else I can help you with?" Lara wiped her hands on a towel and glanced around the kitchen.

  The housekeeper paused near the oven door. "You can carry the wineglasses into the dining room. They were covered with water spots again. You're going to have to talk to your father about that dishwasher. It's next to worthless if I have to keep redoing everything I put in it."